


Feast Day Fish

by Technicolour (Lirriel)



Series: Red Hart, Blue Moon [2]
Category: ASTRO (Band)
Genre: (except feastday isn't really analogous to christmas but shhh), Alternate Universe - Dragon Age, Christmas Presents, Christmas Special, Family Fluff, Gen, Terrible food, good company
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:27:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21977332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lirriel/pseuds/Technicolour
Summary: Bin celebrates his first Feastday in Kirkwall. He makes something called Fluffy Mackerel Pudding and dearly regrets it.At least Jinwoo likes it.(Set between Chapters 2 and 3 ofRed Hart.)
Relationships: Moon Bin & Park Jinwoo | Jin Jin
Series: Red Hart, Blue Moon [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1582003
Comments: 3
Kudos: 9





	Feast Day Fish

**Author's Note:**

> pretend this came out on christmas b/c i got busy lmao

Feastday swept in on the back of a cold front, the likes of which was enough to knock over even Bin. He had grown up in the southern wilds of Ferelden, where the earth went hard and cold and even the warmest winter brought snow. Kirkwall, positioned on the Waking Sea, was home to a more temperate climate.

This did not make it better.

It was a matter of humidity: Lothering had been land-locked and the swamps south of it could only provide so much moisture. But Kirkwall was perfectly placed on a sea that sluiced icy for half the year and contained tempests even the bravest of sailors looked twice at.

The cold, as biting as it was, did nothing to stop the festivities that had overtaken the city.

Bin hurried home with the scent of frankincense thick in his nostrils. It was a welcome change from the city’s more common smell of sweat intermixed with ripening fish, but it also gave him something of a headache, for _everyone_ burned it on Feastday.

It was strange, he thought, how the same holiday could reflect so differently in distant cities. In Lothering, Feastday had been a time of unabashed revelry: each year they had elected a fool as temporary mayor for the day. Prank gifts were given alongside true presents, and the meals they partook in were accompanied by cheap, free-flowing beer. 

Kirkwall was more – devout. Oh, he had heard talk of the many Feastday balls the residents of Hightown had planned. But here the holiday was seen as a time of thanksgiving, a joining of family. Instead of the gaudy streamers that had flapped from Lothering’s homes, Kirkwall was decorated with tastefully-placed pine boughs, little clusters that brought a bit of color to the snow-blanketed buildings.

Bin had earned a bit of extra coin scrambling onto roofs and placing the decorations for people unwilling to do it themselves. With this money, he’d bought all of the ingredients he’d use for their holiday feast.

Even after two months, and with Jinwoo’s plentiful help, money was still in short supply for his family. His mother had already begun to offer her services as a midwife, but most who paid her did so with food and favors. The people of Lowtown were nearly so poor as they, and his mother believed that the community suffered as a whole if a member wasn’t willing to commit to its betterment, even at detriment to the self. This was not to say that she was entirely selfless; she had assisted a baker’s wife in her birthing only to admit to Bin later that they would now have an easier time bartering with the man for loaves.

Bin knew that an accountant would have suggested he save the extra money or find a way to invest it into greater profit. But being able to occasionally indulge was what kept Bin sane. It pushed his nightmares away and kept his temperament light. Let others scoff at what they saw as a waste of money; he knew his mother and Jinwoo would enjoy his present, and that was all that mattered.

“Happy Feastday!” he called, nudging open his house’s front door with a bump from his hip.

An answering call came from the bedrooms, and as Bin edged into his house, arms overladen with last-minute groceries he had bought in a panic, his mother came into view.

“Oh, Bin,” she said immediately, a note of reproach in her voice as she hurried to help him. She took the smaller of the bags from his arms, leaving him the larger, more burdensome one. They carried the ingredients into the kitchen, his mother almost immediately stepping back and placing her hands on her hips as she stared down at what he had bought. Her mouth was quirked in a way that suggested she wasn’t quite sure whether to be angry with him or proud.

“It’s your Feastday present, yours and Jinwoo’s,” he reminded her quickly.

Her mouth tugged into some semblance of a smile, and she answered, “Yes, I’m aware. You’ve told me. Many times.” She raised an eyebrow at him.

Bin could only scratch at his neck, turning back to face the food. He had wanted to do something special, something that he knew they would all enjoy. But now he wondered if it would have been simpler to instead help his mother make a simple meal and buy actual gifts instead. 

“Well, son,” his mother said, startling his from his thoughts. She stepped nearer, clapping him on the shoulder. “I suppose I’ll leave you to it.” With a smile that flashed mirth, she added, “Happy cooking.” Then she was away, back to her room.

_Well,_ he thought, watching her leave. _Nothing to do but follow through_.

Bin threw himself into the feast-making with all the zest of a man yet ignorant of the task that lies ahead.

He had planned out a meal fit for a king – or, at least, a noble of some renown.

Some many hours later, Jinwoo poked his head through the front door, bringing with him a rush of cold air. He wore his customary smile, voice booming as he called out, “Happy Feastday!” He had only begun to step inside, closing the door behind him, when he caught sight of Bin.

“You look like you tussled the Nug King and lost,” he said.

Bin was slumped against the wall, head turned upward as he considered the ceiling in great depth. He had lost all feeling in his legs some time ago. He knew his mother took care in her cooking, that she often prepared dishes long in advance and prized salt so much she took every chance she could to acquire some. He had never truly understand _how hard_ cooking was.

_Why are we arming young men?_ He wondered. Throw a sword in his mother’s hands and strap a shield to her arm and send her off to defeat the archdemon single-handedly.

Why did his _back_ ache, of all things?

“First time?” Jinwoo asked. He sounded smug.

“Traitor,” Bin answered, because one-word sentences were all he could manage without difficulty. He swallowed and ground out, “I’ve cooked before.”

“Not this much, I’m guessing.” Jinwoo unwound the scarf from his neck. “It smells wonderful. By the way, where’s your mother?”

Bin closed his eyes as his mother answered from her bedroom, “Here, Jinwoo. Just a moment!”

“Take your time,” he called back. Bin knew he was grinning; he could hear the smile in the dwarf’s voice. He tapped at Bin’s boot and added, “I’m going to eat your share if you don’t get up. I’m absolutely starving.”

“You could have come sooner,” Bin retorted. He opened his eyes with a groan, clambering up on feet that felt like they belonged to a body many years older than him.

“And be roped into cooking?” Jinwoo asked. “No thanks.”

“I wouldn’t have made you. It’s your Feastday present.”

“You’re only saying that because it’s over. Why don’t you sit and your mom and I can take care of serving?”

Bin allowed himself to be herded to the table. It was a relief to sit down, but it did nothing to calm the dull ache that had taken root in his calves.

His mother finally entered, carrying a pair of packages that she placed beside the ones Jinwoo had brought in. Or, at least, Bin thought the dwarf had brought them. He hadn’t taken notice of what Jinwoo carried; he had been too caught up in thinking of how terrifying an army made up of women like his mother would be. Tireless, endless; a veritable horde.

_Watch out, darkspawn_ , he thought. When Jinwoo placed a shot of whiskey in front of him, he poured it down his throat just to feel a different kind of burn.

The dwarf smacked his shoulder. “Stop that. We’re supposed to toast before we start eating and drinking and making merry.”

His mother added her own hum of disapproval, and Bin sat back in his chair, suitably chastened.

He watched his mother and Jinwoo lay out the dishes he had made. The pork roast, basted in spiced wine, was his greatest accomplishment. Its creation had not been the most difficult, but his mouth watered when he imagined what it must taste like. A gooseberry sauce was served alongside it.

In truth, he was proud of most of his dishes. If there was any singular dish that worried him, it was the fluffy mackerel pudding. He had been given the recipe by another shopper in Kirkwall, while he waited for the butcher to bag up his pig. They had assured him that the “Feast Day Fish” was a staple of Kirkwall cuisine, something enjoyed at large throughout the Free Marches and the highlight of any true Feastday meal.

He would have been less concerned if the pastry hadn’t possessed such a gelatinous consistency. The whole Antivan pepper he had baked into it added another layer of dread.

After the dishes had been laid out and each plate piled high with food, his mother took a moment to lead a small cheer: a toast to their survival, a thanks for the blessing of their good health, a wish that the coming years would be more kind, less frantic.

“My bones are too old for running,” she finished with a smile.

“Mine are going that way,” Bin answered, even as Jinwoo laughed out, “And mine are too short!”

They ate in relative silence, the soft tinkling of their silverware broken up by brief bits of discussion. Bin had only recently begun patrolling the Wounded Coast with Jinwoo and had yet to face combat of the kind they had been promised when he first accepted the job. Ahren had assured him that his blade would bite flesh – but the truth was that he spent too-early mornings wandering a rock-infested, sand-choked coastline. The only grief he’d suffered patrolling it was the biting cold that rolled in off the frost-rimed sea.

“It’ll come eventually,” Jinwoo told him. “You’re too anxious... What is this?” The dwarf poked at the mackerel pudding. 

“Fluffy mackerel pudding,” Bin answered. He bit his lip, unsure whether he should add that it was a favorite of the Free Marches.

“Oh.”

Bin kept his face carefully neutral as Jinwoo scooped a bit onto his plate.

“I’ve never had it,” the dwarf admitted. “It sounds interesting, though. Local to Lothering?” He speared a suitably-sized bite onto his fork and raised it to his mouth.

“No,” Bin’s mother said. Unlike Jinwoo, she had seen Bin use up a whole pepper for the filling. Her hands had stilled, and she rested them lightly upon the table. Together, she and Bin watched Jinwoo take a bite.

“Oh!” Jinwoo’s eyebrows raised, and Bin momentarily choked on his own spit when the dwarf said, “It’s really good!”

“Is it?” Bin asked, trying to work around his sudden coughing fit. He found the glass of whiskey he had been nursing and poured a sizeable amount down his throat. It burned out the tickling that had settled in the back of his mouth; it also burned out his tastebuds. He squinted against the sting of alcohol, refocusing in time to see Jinwoo bring another forkful to his mouth. 

“A little heavy on the pepper,” the dwarf admitted. “The crust is really nice, though. The fish is perfect. Have you tried it?”

Bin shook his head.

“You should,” Jinwoo said. “Here, have a bit of mine.” He lifted up his fork, loaded down with the pastry, and offered it to Bin, his free hand held underneath to catch any falling crumbs. The pastry was overpowering in its scent. It was no single ingredient: the pepper seared his nose, even as the fish threatened to make him gag. The mace, considering how little he had added, was far too noticeable.

But Jinwoo had assured him it tasted good, and Bin had no reason to doubt his friend.

He closed his mouth around the fork right as Jinwoo added, “It really reminds me of my mom’s cooking. I’ve noticed most people don’t spice their food as heavily.”

Bin’s mother, traitor that she was, just laughed. “Oh, son,” she said.

Bin’s eyes screwed up as the pepper immediately bit into his tongue. On top of the whiskey he had been drinking, it did something horrible. The jelly-like consistency of the dish became more and more gummy as he worked his mouth around it.

He remembered when his neighbor had once fed her dog honey and the way the dog had licked at its lips for several minutes afterward. It was only decorum and a desperate desire to keep the pepper contained that made him refrain from doing the same.

He struggled to swallow; chunks of mackerel settled in the hollow of his cheeks, even as the mace made itself known on top of the pepper. He thought his eyes were sweating; Bin dabbed at them uselessly with a napkin.

His mother was quietly laughing at his plight. Even Jinwoo was smiling, though he was obviously trying to keep his face neutral. The corners of his lips kept twitching up. 

“You all right, Binnie?”

Bin finally swallowed and searched for the nearest water source. He grabbed his whiskey, desperate to wash the last remnants of the damned mackerel mixture out of his mouth. He drained it, answered, “No,” in a voice that was barely a squeak, and reached for Jinwoo’s mead next.

The dwarf didn’t protest, though he did raise an eyebrow when Bin threw his head back and gulped down the rest of Jinwoo’s drink.

His mouth was still burning, and he was about to get up and go for the entire bottle of whiskey, inevitable blackout be damned, when his mother shoved a chunk of bread in his hand.

“Eat that,” she told him. He did so, and the burning lessened somewhat.

As he chewed busily, his mother rose from her chair. She stepped into the kitchen, dug through a few of their cupboards, and returned with a spoonful of honey.

“On your tongue,” she directed.

The honey further alleviated the pain, and with a few more slices of bread, Bin was able to dampen the heat that had turned his mouth into a raging inferno. The burning was not entirely gone, but it was manageable. That was all he cared about. 

“Careful,” Jinwoo warned him as the dwarf set a new glass of whiskey down in front of him. “You keep drinking like that, and you won’t remember anything after this.”

“It wasn’t like I was trying to get drunk,” Bin retorted. “You could have told me!”

The dwarf raised his shoulders in a shrug. “I didn’t think it was that bad.”

Delicately, Bin’s mother raised the dish of fluffy mackerel pudding to her nose. She blinked and set it back down; she had only just removed her hands when a sneeze shot out of her. She sniffed and dabbed at her nose with her napkin. “I’d hate to see what you consider _too_ spicy, Jinwoo.”

Thankfully, the rest of the meal was uneventful. Jinwoo took it upon himself to eat the rest of the dish, while Bin and his mother contented themselves with everything else. Even with the dwarf’s apparent resistance to heat, there were still a few times he had to pause to fan himself, always wearing a smile, even when he was panting with an open mouth.

“It just keeps building,” he told Bin at one point, “Typically heat reaches a plateau, but the fish just _does something_. It’s amazing.”

“I’m glad you think that,” Bin told him. He had already decided he was never making it again. Jinwoo could have the damn recipe if he really wanted the blighted fish dish that badly. 

Afterwards, they settled around the fire.

Bin had switched to mead to match Jinwoo’s more leisurely pace. The earlier whiskey had rendered him warm and cozy, and he smiled readily when Jinwoo dumped a number of small presents into his lap. His mother’s gift to him was in a bit of wrapping paper that gave easily when Bin tested it.

Jinwoo’s eyes were drooping; Bin suspected he would fall asleep on the floor if they didn’t keep him focused. The combination of alcohol and good food had made him sleepy, he admitted with a sloppy smile. “The perfect present,” he told Bin, still wearing that goofy grin. “You know how I like to eat.”

“A man after my own heart,” Bin answered with a laugh.

His mother was the only one of them seated in a chair, and she shook her head as she poked at the fire, resettling the coals. She added a few smaller logs to the fire and sat back. “I hope you’ll like it,” she told Jinwoo, indicating the small present from her that he cradled. “It isn’t food, but…”

“I’m sure I’ll love it no matter what,” Jinwoo said. He was so disgustingly sincere that Bin couldn’t help himself, silently mimicking the way Jinwoo had spoken, only to be jabbed in the side by his mother’s toe.

“Stop that or your Feastday present will be a new step-father instead,” she told him before throwing a grin in Jinwoo’s direction. The dwarf cackled even as Bin blanched and dropped his head to inspect his presents.

He opened his mother’s gift first and was unsurprised to find it was handmade. What earned his awe was the beauty of it. He knew his mother had an eye for color, but it always surprised him, how easily she could turn the mundane into extraordinary. It was a scarf, primarily plum purple in color but edged with lines of maroon. Bin didn’t know much about knitting, but even he could tell that the scarf would trap heat easily. The fabric felt soft but not especially fluffy.

He wrapped it around his neck, just to try it out, and flushed when Jinwoo whistled.

“Handsome,” the dwarf told him with a grin.

“Of course,” he answered.

His mother’s gift to Jinwoo was something entirely different: it was a small knife, its blade thin and slightly tapered. Bin stared at it for a moment, mulling over what it could be, when his mother clarified, “It’s a whittling knife. I thought you might like something to do with your hands.”

“Oh,” Jinwoo said. He had been staring at it for a few moments, face blank, but slowly a smile tugged his lips back up. At last, he looked toward her, his face soft with pleasure. “Thank you. I bet with enough practice I could carve myself a little dog with this.”

“Make your own pet,” Bin added. He knew how much Jinwoo wanted a mabari. A little carving could never be the real thing, of course, but if the dwarf was happy, then that was all that mattered.

“Exactly,” Jinwoo answered.

Jinwoo’s gift to Bin, when he managed to get all the small packages unwrapped, turned out to be a number of items useful in weapon and armor upkeep.

“You’ve got good equipment now,” Jinwoo told him with a grin. “Let’s try not to immediately ruin it, okay?”

Bin snatched up a piece of kindling and threw it in the dwarf’s direction. “Some wood for you to practice on,” he said.

Jinwoo stuck his tongue out at Bin before giggling.

Bin watched his mother enthuse over her new gift from Jinwoo through eyes heavy with sleep. It wasn’t that he was especially tired, but the coziness of the room, combined with the food he had devoured earlier and the amount of alcohol he had consumed, was beginning to grab at his consciousness. He nuzzled into the scarf his mother had made for him, burying his nose in the soft fabric.

He thought maybe he could doze for a while. It had been a long time since he had felt this relaxed, this unguarded. His head began to dip, his chin settling on his chest. The last time he had felt like this had been before Ostagar. Before Ostagar, before the darkspawn.

_It isn’t really home_ , he thought. _But maybe, eventually…_

He fell asleep as someone gently tucked a blanket into place around him.

**Author's Note:**

> Since the next chapter of Red Hart features the Summerday festival, I figured I could use this as an opportunity to start filling in some of the gaps that Red Hart skips over due to time/sanity constraints. ~~(And as a way to shake the rust off.)~~
> 
> Bin's scarf is the same one he wears at the start of chapter 3, and the whittling knife is what leads Jinwoo to take up woodcarving. His carving is briefly mentioned near the end of chapter 3 (I think), but I doubt he does as much now that his hands have been burned :T
> 
> Anyway, Happy Holidays to you and yours, and I hope you enjoyed this small bit of pointless worldbuilding. Hopefully by next Christmas I can do a special that actually features all six of the boys LMAO


End file.
